


The Collector

by 7veilsphaedra



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Food, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:25:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7veilsphaedra/pseuds/7veilsphaedra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/U Lust and antiquities, for the November 2009 Livejournal Springkink giftfic challenge. Prompt: "There was something about the man who came into his shop every day."</p><p>(Posted to update my archived works here.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Collector

It was four o’clock and, as usual, Ukitake was running behind schedule. Even so late in the day, the parking was vile, and someone had taken his spot behind the Market Street shop. The closest spot was nearly half a mile and several stoplights away at Church Street, a full twenty minutes before his long legs carried him to his appointment.

A particularly fine set of Sōmayaki tea cups which the auctioneer had buried behind a fake Takatori caddy had diverted him—something which was becoming a regular habit every time he went to the painting, antique and _objets des vertu_ viewings.

It was a subtle thing, but the lighter cream-glazed branches against the so-called Takatori caddy’s brown forest pattern were too slender, a little too contrived toward the early 20th century decorative taste, and they lacked the serendipitous ‘drip’ effect of the kiln’s traditional glazes. It was, in short, not quite a reproduction—something created to fool the buyer into thinking it was an original Takatori—so much as a derivative piece—something marked by the style’s influence, but with variant elements. Someone who wasn’t as aware as Ukitake of the design antecedents would miss it. The Sōmayaki ware, however, was especially fine and rare. Ukitake was taken with the piercing between the inner and outer layers of the cups. The potter knew exactly how to craft the leaf patterns on the outer shell—a design feature that vented heat and kept the outer layer cool for the fingers—to look particularly lacy without sacrificing the rough-seeming spontaneity of the incisions. The teacups were undoubtedly the work of a master. The question was whether they were rare enough to offset the Takatori fake, since speculators were certain to drive up the price.

Ukitake sighed heavily. He was going to bid on the items, but his attention was preoccupied by how high a price he should be willing to pay, and whether one of his regular collectors would find the price tempting enough for a quick resale. He had been burned on some Imari recently, and financial risks had absorbed his thoughts throughout most of the afternoon to such a degree that, upon opening the door to his showroom, he ran straight into another man who was just leaving.

“Sorry,” Ukitake automatically lifted his hands to steady the fellow and keep him from being knocked into a cabinet of Edo period Shigaraki jars and sake flasks. “Sorry!”

It wasn’t necessary. The customer was a great solid wall of a man, with what Ukitake could feel were powerful muscles under that serge overcoat with its flamboyant pink silk scarf—muscles which took an intense amount of physical training to shape and define so distinctively, and which he had as much chance of knocking over at a run as the Olympic Tower. Yet the man had such a careless, casual, _unshaven_ look about him. It was deceptive. Ukitake’s eyes, half-focused in apologetic smile mode, opened sharply … and started gazing into the warmest, most gentle and light-filled eyes he had ever seen.

He had seen the man before, a regular who seemed to come into the shop daily during the lunch rush, but so far, Ukitake hadn’t been able to speak to him. It was Kiyone who handled his business. He had gone so far as to ask Kiyone what the man had wanted, but she would only say he was a collector.

“My bad,” the man replied. “I could see you coming from the front windows and it’s darker in here than it is outside. You couldn’t have known I blocked your path.”

“No, no, no! It was entirely my fault. I should’ve been watching where I was going, instead of—Oh!” Ukitake just realized he was unconsciously patting his hands all over the man’s chest and forearms, feeling him up, sizing him as a potential opponent at the Kendo Dojo where he worked out at nights. His hands flew behind his back like a kid with a stolen cookie. “Sorry.”

“Not at all,” the man replied, the corners of his eyelids crinkling, lips curling into a smile. The stranger had dimples. Through the flurry of thoughts and feelings which seemed to be short-circuiting Ukitake’s higher brain functions, he wondered if this man couldn’t look more mouthwatering.

It looked like the stranger assumed he was gay, which he was, but most notably of all, it didn’t seem like he had a problem with that—quite the opposite in fact. Ukitake let out a little sigh of relief. At least if his groping had been misinterpreted, there had been no insult taken.

“I am extremely late for an appointment with a new client, and someone parked in my space behind the shop,” Ukitake explained, ruefully. “I’m afraid it has left me quite distracted.”

“I also must be on my way.” The stranger’s smile angled into a regretful crook. “I won’t keep you longer.”

There were a couple more awkward moments as the men tried, first, to squeeze past each other, before Ukitake realized that this was far too confined and intimate a public space for the both of them, and there was at least one very pointed reason why he mustn’t let himself rub up against the man, even inadvertently. His heart thumped like a disco as he backed into another aisle and let the stranger pass.

So much electricity flew between them that Ukitake’s long fine white hair clutched at the man’s sleeves as though they were magical fingers. The man delicately swept off the strands, lingering a touch upon them like they were extensions of Ukitake’s nerves, before pulling away. Then, with a tip of his fedora, he was gone.

Ukitake repressed a sigh as he strode into the further regions of the showroom where his office was situated.

“Did you manage to speak to him?” Kiyone Kotetsu’s bright face lit up when she saw him. “He’s really charming, isn’t he?”

“Who?” Ukitake swept off his coat and placed it on the hook behind his door. “Did my three-thirty wait? I tried to call but the cell needs to be recharged.”

“He just left. That man who was just here, that was him—Mr. Shunsui Kyouraku. He’s parked behind the shop. If you run, you might just catch him.”

Ukitake dashed out the way he came, and tore around the building. Sadly, a pair of tail lights were turning out the alleyway by the time he got there. He ran after them in case the stoplights at the intersection created a short delay, but luck wasn’t with him. He was puffing for breath by the time he made it back to the shop.

Kiyone was serving another customer and Sentarou Kotsubaki was still on his break. The telephone started to ring.

“Floating World Antiques.” Ukitake gestured to Kiyone that he would handle the call.

“This is Shunsui Kyouraku.”

“Mr. Kyouraku, thank you for calling. This is Jyoushirou Ukitake speaking, proprietor for Floating World. I apologize for my tardiness. My clerk tells me we just missed each other.”

“So, that was you! As I left, I thought to myself that you might not have been so late if I hadn’t parked in your spot,” Kyouraku chuckled. His voice was deep and rich. Ukitake would’ve liked to wrap himself in it like a soft blanket. “I’m as much to blame as you.”

“Traffic and parking have become a real problem here of late.” Ukitake replied, a strange sort of breathlessness dissolving his words. “I should’ve known and adjusted my schedule. I wasted your time and trip. Is there some way I can make it up to you?”

“Well, I still have these items that I want appraised, but you should probably come to my place and take a look. I expect photographs are no substitute for the real thing.”

“It depends.” Ukitake went into his dealership mode. “Photographs can be used to eliminate certain pieces right away if the age of the item is very obviously not antique. They aren’t so good for identifying modern reproductions or forgeries. Can you email the digital images to me?”

“They were stored on my cellphone. I forwarded the images to your email just as I was leaving.”

“Please hang on a sec while I call them up then.” Ukitake slid behind his desk and fired up his laptop. Kyouraku’s email contained over thirty low resolution image attachments which opened to reveal an enormously varied selection of fine pieces, from swords and tsuba, to Ukiyo-e and calligraphy, objets, garments, wooden boxes and handmade pottery. Ukitake could barely contain his excitement, exclamations of admiration spilling off his lips as each attachment popped onto the screen.

“I take it I’ve caught your interest,” Kyouraku said.

“This looks like an exceptional collection. There are some very fine pieces here. I will absolutely need to see them firsthand to give you a proper evaluation.”

“Excellent! When?”

Ukitake pulled out his daytimer—a meaningless ritual since he invariably forgot to look at it once things were scrawled down. If Kiyone and Sentarou didn’t keep him in line, he would forget to breathe. “When would work best for you?”

“Are you busy tonight?”

“Tonight?” This surprised Ukitake, not so much that someone would request an evaluation outside of regular business hours. This was the norm, particularly for those who held down regular jobs, but it was rather sudden. “Do you mean after supper?”

“I’m sorry,” Kyouraku said. “I wasn’t thinking. No doubt, your wife and family won’t appreciate me taking you away from time which should be spent with them.”

“If I had a wife and family, I’m sure that would be the case.” Ukitake smiled at the clever way this important iota of information had been coaxed out of him. He also couldn’t help but notice that he and Mr. Kyouraku seemed to spend a lot of time, first apologizing to each other, and then, absolving each other of any blame. “Since I don’t, it isn’t an issue.”

“Then why don’t you join me for the evening meal?”

Ukitake’s feet skipped a spontaneous happy rhythm under his desk. “I won’t be intruding?”

“If you were, I wouldn’t ask. Oh, I should warn you though, I tend to eat quite late—around nine-thirty to ten o’clock. Would that be a problem?”

“It will take at least a couple of hours for me to work through your collection, so if I were to wait for supper first, that would make for a rather late evening.”

“I love to eat, so I take a long time to prepare the meal. Would it be a problem for you to look over the pieces while I cooked?”

“Not at all. I will head over after I’ve cleaned up, say, seven o’clock?”

“Sounds good. I’m in the Rampart Sound area. Is that alright?”

The acreages were much further afield than Ukitake usually drove, but it didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“I’ll email the coordinates.”

As Ukitake created a new file for Kyouraku and saved the pictures for reference, Sentarou walked in. “You look like a cat that’s learned how to milk rocks for cream.”

Ukitake’s grin was the shiniest thing in the store while he grabbed his coat, his laptop, and some reference books.

“That’s because I am and I have,” he laughed, then wheeled out, leaving his spluttering clerk to close up the store behind him.

 

 

 

 

Rampart Sound spread over an outlying area of the city, an inlet surrounded by woodlands, with architectural marvels perched on cliffs, and a view of the Straits to the west. The road to Kyouraku’s address followed the curves of the shoreline, a gorgeous midsummer drive. Ukitake calculated that they would be eating supper just as the sun set over a gleaming sea.

His hair had still been damp from the soak and shower when he left his condo, but he opened the roof of his convertible and let the wind blow it behind him. It had been a few years since anyone had caught his fancy. Ukitake’s last relationship had been with a fellow almost ten years younger, whom he had met at the dojo. Initially, the lad’s fire and spirit held some appeal, but it had not ended happily. Fire and spirit also meant impatience and a volatile temper. Afterwards, Ukitake shelved his hopes for a loving relationship along with a few other unfortunate experiments from his past—the first failed business venture, the set of okimono which turned out to be fakes, the profit he earned one year which only just managed to push him over the line into the next tax bracket. As he wove the car around the hips of the coastal range, it seemed like the tides were changing.

By the time Ukitake pulled up to Kyouraku’s entrance, his hair shimmered around him like a satin shawl. He was buoyant and light, and felt like he was being carried along on the breeze off the straits.

He was not expecting the petite, yet somehow formidable woman who opened the door.

“You must be Mr. Ukitake, the antique dealer.” She gestured for him to follow her across the slate flags. A natural looking waterfall and stream lined with jasmine, azaleas, bamboo, and highly shaped tropical deciduals and evergreens spilled around the rock pathway under their feet. “I’m Nanao Ise. Don’t bother to remove your shoes; Shunsui isn’t formal and the stonework is too hard on the feet.”

Ukitake schooled his features before stunned surprise could shift into abject disappointment. “Mr. Kyouraku insisted I wouldn’t be imposing, but he never mentioned that he had a wife. If I had known, I would’ve brought more than a shabby bottle of wine for supper.”

 _“Ex-_ wife, please!” The pert young lady clarified. “You aren’t imposing. I’m only here to return some of Kyouraku’s Ranma panels which the movers mistakenly packed along with my furnishings. I won’t be staying.”

The water filled the air with moisture, and the flowers perfumed it.

“What did you say to Shunsui this afternoon anyway? He’s been chortling and dancing around like a little kid ever since I got here. He only had me answer the door because he would’ve died rather than let you see him in a frilly apron.” The stone flags shifted into polished bamboo, and the tone of Nanao’s heels as they clipped across the flooring also changed into something crisper. “Let me take you and your ‘shabby bottle’ to the kitchen. This looks like a perfectly lovely dinner wine, by the way! If I were your hostess for the evening, I would be more than delighted to receive such a thoughtful gift.”

Even if Nanao was no longer married to Kyouraku, she represented the death of a small hope Ukitake barely had a chance to cherish. He couldn’t hate her for it though. She was trying so hard to put him at ease.

“Nanao-chan, is that you?” The astonishing sight of Kyouraku struggling to pull the frilly apron over his head greeted them at entrance into the open kitchen area. “The blasted thing is all knotted and I seem to have gotten stuck.

“Oh!” He stopped short at the sight of Ukitake, one arm strung over his head, his shirt riding up over a nicely sculpted belly. Under different circumstances, Ukitake would’ve liked to run his tongue over that belly. “Hello … um … You managed to find the house alright then?”

“For goodness sake, Shunsui!” Nanao bustled over. “Stop trying to force your way out of that thing or we’ll have to cut you free.”

She tried to pull some strings, and Kyouraku contorted this way and that trying to work his way clear of the fabric with its pattern of ripe red cherries. Ukitake suppressed a laugh.

“How did you manage to wind this thing into such a complicated—that’s it! Where are your scissors? I can’t even tell where the string begins or ends!”

“Watch it! That tickles,” Kyouraku wriggled away from her fingers as nimbly as he could with one arm pinned against his ear. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t taken the plain apron, Nanao-chan.”

“Stop squirming or I will accidentally stab you.” She rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a lethal set of sheers. “I took the plain apron because it was mine, Kyouraku. May I remind you who bought this atrocity?”

“Every chance you get, more’s the pity, since I never could convince you to wear it.”

With a decisive snip, she released Kyouraku from his ruffled bondage.

“If that is all, I will be on my way. I trust you can look after your guest tonight without accidentally setting him on fire or dropping him down a ravine?”

She gave their guest a small, snappy bow. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Ukitake. No matter what it might look like, I’m leaving you in good hands. Did you need anything from me before I go?”

“I-I don’t think so,” Ukitake thought, and then, as Nanao straightened to leave, “except—is this evaluation for the purpose of a divorce settlement?”

Both Nanao and Kyouraku stared at him before Nanao said, “Gracious, no. Every last piece here belongs to Shunsui.”

“It’s for insurance,” Kyouraku explained.

“For years I asked him to take care of it.” Nanao nodded. “Figures he would wait until after I’ve left to start. Well, if that is all, I will be off.”

She kissed Kyouraku on the cheek and whirled off, leaving an enormous vacuum in her wake for such a tiny woman.

“Shall we have some before we get started?” Kyouraku fetched a bottle opener and two fine hand-blown glasses from a special cabinet designed for storing wine and its accoutrements.

“I should probably keep my wits about me,” Ukitake replied, wondering how he could extricate himself from the dinner obligation after his job was over. The existence of an ex-wife had caught him off-guard. Since it would be all too easy for him to fall for this character, which seemed to entail all sorts of rocky landings, he decided to shield himself emotionally. “I wouldn’t want my calculations to become fantastical.”

“A warming glass won’t hurt, though?” Kyouraku coaxed, holding his finger and thumb to signify an inch.

“Alright, just a touch.” That should keep the host from feeling rejected, Ukitake decided. From the look of it, Kyouraku was planning a veritable feast. The island was loaded with colourful fresh vegetables, seafood, cheeses, fruits and other scrumptious items. Ukitake realized with a sinking heart, there was no way he could get out of this graciously, and that was before he found out that an inch in the great goblets which Kyouraku used was like a full-to-the-brim glass with the ordinary wineglasses Ukitake used.

“Cheers!” Kyouraku clinked. With a brittle, glittering smile, Ukitake resolved that this one glass was going to last him all evening.

 

 

 

 

Fortunately, the collection held so many intriguing features that Ukitake became thoroughly absorbed. The task of determining what exactly was in Kyouraku’s collection was so fascinating, he almost didn't notice when Kyouraku brought in an _amuse-bouche_ , and jumped a little when Kyouraku set the plate at his elbow. “Here’s something to keep you from starving.”

“Thank you!” Ukitake set down the sword he had been scrutinizing. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was getting.”

The bite-sized offerings of fresh figs, gorgonzola cheese and toasted pecans baked in a crisp filo sheet were just the right combination of salty and sweet, creamy, chewy and crunchy. Ukitake’s tastebuds felt like they had been transformed into sparkplugs. His eyes rolled up as though he had just experienced a heavenly revelation.

“How’s the job coming along?” Kyouraku added another inch of wine to the blood-red pool in Ukitake’s unfinished glass.

“It doesn’t look like I will be able to finish this in one sitting.” Ukitake was frank. “If the collection had been assembled around a singular theme—like, say, Meiji era prints—then this would be a more straightforward process. Because there is such a breadth of variation in the eras and the items, however, it will take me longer to verify and establish a price.”

Kyouraku shrugged, unconcerned. Golden-orange sunlight from beyond the office doors backlit him, setting a halo of tiny reflections off the glossy fall of his hair. Ukitake found himself being pulled into the warmth of his eyes again. “All the more to prolong my enjoyment of your company.”

Ukitake let out a little snort of laughter. “Kiyone was right. You are a charmer.”

“Kiyone? Right, the blonde lass at your shop. In my defense, it’s easy to be charming when two people start an argument over the right to be at my beck and call. Very flattering!”

“It gets old quickly.” Ukitake took a sip of wine and popped another parcel of filo deliciousness into his mouth.

“I’ll have to take your word for it, since the last time it happened to me, I convinced both of them to join me in—” The haste with which Kyouraku derailed that train of thought made Ukitake suspect it ended in something lewd, illegal or tasteless.

“A competition that never ends is more of a nuisance, since it’s all about them.” He brought the subject to a close. “Can I ask you about what prompted you to amass such a wonderful collection?”

“I wish I could say it was sheer good taste and auction-fu,” his host replied. “But I’m afraid it’s nothing so interesting. Most of this came to me through dead ancestors—artifacts left to me by my forebearers. I know nothing about them. Well, except for a few of the netsuke and okimono. I bought those on a whim, because I liked them. They are probably the only worthless, rubbishy things in the lot.”

“If they amuse you, then I would hardly call them worthless,” Ukitake took out his jeweller’s loupe to examine an elaborate detail of a snow monkey stealing nuts engraved on a nutshell. He couldn’t tell from a casual glance if the netsuke was a modern replica, but it was very clever and beautifully crafted, and the representation was cheeky and fresh.

“You are a rare sort of dealer, then.”

Curious, Ukitake shot a glance back to Kyouraku.

“Most of the ones I’ve spoken to were disgusted, quite frankly, that an uncultured lout like me wound up with—” Kyouraku spread his arms wide, like a grizzly taking on the moon. Oddly, instead of looking like a gesture for abundance and opulence, it spoke more of helplessness and emptiness. “And their disgust isn’t undeserved either. There is this part of me that can’t help thinking it’s just stuff, just a bunch of old junk. It will never feel, or admire a sunset, or fall in love with a beautiful … man.”

Kyouraku’s voice fell away.

“You’ve approached other dealers then?” Ukitake frowned.

“Yes.”

“And they’ve already appraised your collection?”

“Yes.”

“Then, excuse me for being blunt, Mr. Kyouraku, but I fail to see why you hired me. What is it you expect? Are you looking for second opinions, or consensus between experts? If that is the case, I’m more than willing to stake my expertise against their assessments.” Ukitake was surprised at how fired up the subject made him. He wondered if his indignation was simply limited to the subject of antiques, or if his earlier disappointment was adding fuel. “But if this is, as you say, just a bunch of old junk and you want me to drum up additional meaning beyond a cold market-value assessment, I’m not your man.”

“You are. You have to be,” Kyouraku insisted. “For one thing, you are the only one who hasn’t patronized me.”

“I can’t speak for the others, but I could never expect you to understand why this ‘stuff’ is appreciated by collectors if you haven’t versed yourself in history. Even so, no one likes to have their profession devalued. I mean—‘stuff’? Really! My ancestors believed that an object which represented the pinnacle of an artist’s craftsmanship—when that artist was at the pinnacle of his milieu—acquired a soul of its own. It may not be able to ‘feel love’ per se, but it inspires, heals and brings joy to others. So, maybe it isn’t a complete and individual soul. Maybe it’s just an extension of the artist’s soul, but that is what gives it value and meaning to me.”

“That!” Kyouraku dropped one fist into the other palm with a loud smack. _“That’s_ why you are my guy. Of all the dealers and experts I’ve approached, did you know you are the only one who has ever even mentioned inspiration, healing and joy, let alone soul? As far as I’m concerned you are the only one who has the slightest inkling about real value. _That_ is why I want you to teach me.”

Ukitake’s mouth fell open. He swayed and rubbed his forehead as though the conversation had left him dizzy.

“What?” Now Kyouraku looked like a smacked puppy. “What did I say this time?”

“Nothing,” Ukitake laughed. “I just—it’s just—one moment you insult me beyond endurance, and the next, you turn it around into the nicest compliment anyone has ever paid me. I’m having trouble keeping up, a bit of emotional whiplash.”

“I suppose that’s because I have ulterior motives.” Kyouraku said, but just as he was about to explain, the timer went off in the kitchen. He wobbled back and forth for awhile, before Ukitake shooed him off. With a wave of his arms, he turned and ran.

Ukitake swept his eyes around the room at the stores of precious things. With a sigh, he closed down his laptop, grabbed his wineglass and followed Kyouraku into the kitchen.

There was an enormous cast iron rack suspended over the island with dozens of different skillets, pots, cassoulets, and bamboo steamers hanging from it. At least half of them were in use. Clouds of steam billowed from different elements, carrying with them the scent of ginger, cardamom, coriander, saffron, cocoanut and guava. Garlic and onions sizzled over another burner. A note of roasted chicken, capsicums and oranges seeped from one of the wall ovens, fresh bread from another. A colander of freshly steamed shrimp waited in the sink, ready to be peeled. Kyouraku was busy chopping fresh basil on one board, cucumber and limes on another. 

“Somehow, I don’t think you want yet another market-value assessment,” Ukitake plunked himself on a stool across from where Kyouraku looked up in surprise. “Why don’t you give me something useful to do instead?”

“I was wondering if I was going to have to knock you out to get you to join me.” Kyouraku grinned. Then he gave the colander of shrimp a shake and handed it over to Ukitake. “Know how to peel these?”

Ukitake washed his hands, then started pulling exoskeletons off sweet pink flesh. “So why did you really invite me here tonight?”

Kyouraku hesitated, choosing his words. “Company? The chance to spend the evening with an attractive stranger?”

“Heh, you do know that I’m homosexual, don’t you?”

“I was kind of hoping,” Kyouraku admitted with a wink that hit Ukitake like a sword blow through the chest, but before he could process that little bit of information any further, Kyouraku distracted him. “Just a second, here.”

He pulled a bamboo steamer off one of the trays of boiling water. Then he took two brightly painted fäience ramekins from the shelf, swirled some flavoured oil across the bottoms, added a small ladle of cream reduction on top. From the steamer, he extracted exactly three fat, folded squares of stuffed pasta, and arranged them on the liquid.

“Just about ready,” he murmured, sprinkling them with a dash of the orange coloured oil, some chopped apple, caramelized onions and roasted peanuts.

“Here, try this!” He set it in front of Ukitake.

Ukitake took a fork and cut into the pasta pocket. It was filled with a rich orange paste. He swirled it in the cream and oil, gathering up bits of apple, peanuts and onions, then lifted the fork to his lips. He could smell a touch of ginger and cardamom and something very rich and earthy. At last, he tasted. It was succulent. The filling was richly spiced and steaming, but tempered by the bland pasta; the apples were cold, crisp and juicy; the sweetness of the cream and filling was offset by the oil which turned out to be infused with spicy hot peppers, the onions and peanuts added the perfect amount of savoury and crunch.

“Oh, that tastes superb!” Ukitake raved. “What is it?”

“Pumpkin ravioli in fire oil and a cardamom cream reduction, with just a touch of honey. You like it?”

“It’s one of the most delicious things I’ve ever eaten.”

“Good! Good!”

“So you’re planning to spoil me all evening with little treats like that?”

“If you’ll let me.”

Ukitake was so touched he felt like a single breath would be enough for him to disintegrate into dust all over the stone flags. First, however, there was something he needed to clear up.

“You’re on good terms with your ex-wife.”

“Yes, with both of them, actually.”

“She certainly seems like a capable woman.”

“They both were. They both _are.”_

Ukitake was relieved; of all the ways in which Kyouraku might’ve contributed to the failure of his marriages, they didn’t seem to be due to pettiness. Nor did it seem like he was the sort to hold grudges.

It was time for Ukitake to get to the point. “Since things haven’t worked out so well with women, you’ve decided to take a man out for a spin?”

Kyouraku reduced a lime peel into a thousand tiny particles, before carefully responding, “I’m attracted to you. If you were a woman, I would still be attracted to you, even though my track record with women isn’t so great.”

Again, Ukitake felt that Kyouraku managed, with a few words, to expose all the wide open craters that had been blown into his emotions. He must’ve looked stricken because Kyouraku immediately dropped his cleaver and started apologizing.

“I’m sorry. I’m really clumsy at this. I’ve never tried to seduce another man before.”

“Not at all,” Ukitake shook his head, the air in his lungs hovered unmoving, unable to flow, unable to underpin his words. Everything was leaden with desire.

From where he sat, it seemed like he and Kyouraku were standing on opposite shores of the ocean. The first thing Ukitake had to do was remove every inch of space which separated them. Time stretched as he got up and walked over, a starved ghost invited to a feast. Gravity concentrated in his fingers as he reached over and threaded them into Kyouraku’s hair, the skin on his cheeks smooth beneath his palms. Forehead to forehead, he stepped in, and they shared several deep breaths. He shivered as huge warm hands, hands the size of baseball gloves, hands which caressed and gripped like soft leather couch cushions, circled around his waist, then slid up his back and cinched him close, closer than tango, close like osmosis. More shared breaths, more like panting—loud breaths that consumed his whole being since they didn’t give him any actual oxygen—until his lips finally opened and Kyouraku plunged his tongue through them and covered every bit of the space, until he almost blacked out, and they separated wet and sticky.

Then they stood embracing and sharing some more breaths, the aftershocks of their kiss thrumming through Ukitake’s body. His erection was pressed against Kyouraku’s. His forehead was damp, his knees limp. He went in for another kiss.

Halfway through, a timer went off. Kyouraku ignored it, or didn’t hear it, and kept roving around Ukitake’s mouth and rubbing their hard-ons together, until Ukitake finally pushed him off. “Is anything else going to ignite if we keep this up?”

“Dinner’s pretty much ready.” Kyouraku admitted. “But damned if I have any appetite left for it now.”

Ukitake let out a laugh that was more like a heavy sigh and half-collapsed with thwarted lust against his partner.

“I want you to feed me.” He demanded. “I want to taste more of this incredible stuff you’ve spent all evening preparing, and I want to feed it to you, but not at the table. I wouldn’t make it through the meal. I need to be right next to you, able to touch you.

“Let’s recline on piles of cushions somewhere, like Romans used to, and let me bring the choicest morsels to your lips—”

“Like my very own Roman slave?” Kyouraku waggled his eyebrows.

Ukitake burst out laughing. He couldn’t believe he was going along with this. “Sure, why not, except no shackles and chains.”

“No shackles and chains.” Kyouraku looked like his brain cells were fusing together.

“You won’t need them.”

“Damn. I’ve got to pull myself together and this isn’t helping. I feel like I’m swimming in jello. Look, you will find everything you need out on the deck. Feel free to haul anything out you want to construct this little—what is it? Seraglio?—cushions, urns, lotion, togas … um …”

Ukitake turned him away gently by the shoulders. “You finish up here. I’ll assemble our own little pleasure palace outside.”

There really wasn’t much assembly required. More than enough cushions were already heaped around. The property was sheltered and private, with tall banks of trees to the north and south, and the open expanse of water a fair distance below. There were flowers everywhere, and shimmering in the sunlight a swimming pool. Ukitake decided to set the cushions up next to the pool.

By the time Kyouraku brought out the first tray of delicacies, Ukitake was stark naked, his hair fanned out over the edge of the pool, his eyes closed, luxuriating in the sensation of his body floating in cool water, skin the colour of soft cream and pink waterlilies. There was a loud _ker-splash!_

Ukitake looked up startled, and began to laugh. Kyouraku hadn’t even bothered to take off his clothes. He was wading over as fast as he could, creating monster waves in his wake, and complaining, “The water’s cold! How could you just jump in like that and reel me in like a mer-man, you evil temptrix? I think my gonads just shrank two centimeters.”

“I needed to do something to cool off,” Ukitake smiled. “I was overheating.”

He stepped up to Kyouraku and let him run wet all over his body, releasing a small sigh when the huge hands molded around his buttocks and started to massage them. Kyouraku’s buttons disconnected from their buttonholes under Ukitake’s nimble fingers, belts were unlooped, laces unstrung, and in short order, both men were completely naked.

They interspersed bites of smoked eel on a medallion of jelled kiwi with small revelations of personal history. They sipped on wine between long kisses. They licked the juice from garlic roasted chicken off each other’s fingers, and fed each other wafers made from pistachios and topped with strawberries and ripe peaches. Ukitake even took it much further, trailing his tongue down that sculpted torso, lapping wine out of Kyouraku’s belly and finally sucking his cock deep into his throat.

They didn’t go all evening like a pair of teenagers. They didn’t come more than once apiece. Once was all they required. Maturity left them capable of building those slow, bathospheric, full-body releases that require holding off and letting the energy push them into a more intense peak. The stars were out by the time they finished, enjoying the silken texture of skin against skin in the velvety warm darkness. The open sky was like a blanket. Meteorites striped the sky to the north where the city lights didn’t interfere.

It was probably midnight by the time Ukitake mentioned, “There still seems to be an awful lot of food left.”

“Hm, I will put it away tonight, and let the housekeeping service handle clean up tomorrow.” Kyouraku agreed.

“I will give you a hand,” Ukitake slowly sat up, wincing at the stiff muscles in his hips. He hadn’t had a working over like that in nearly a decade.

“Hey,” Kyouraku stroked his arm. “You will be spending the night with me, won’t you? Sleeping next to me in my bed?”

“If you want me to,” Ukitake smiled. “You won’t leave the bed without waking me up first, though, will you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

_—fin—_


End file.
